Chapter Seven
Lily leaned into his embrace, needing to touch him. Wanting him to know that she craved this, too. She knew she ought to close her eyes for the kiss, but she just couldn’t. So she watched, restless with anticipation, as his mouth lowered to hers. And just as his breath caressed her lips …
He startled. And leapt back.
Left with nothing to lean against, Lily pitched forward. She barely managed to catch the mantel’s edge before tumbling to the floor. She shook herself, confused and gasping and uncertain where to look. Had she merely misread his words, or the entire situation? How much mortification could fit into one evening, anyway?
Finally, unable to do otherwise, she looked to Julian for an explanation.
He said, “My God. You’re pregnant.”
What? Her mind rattled in her skull, shaken by the utter impossibility of that statement. To be sure, she’d just felt the tangible proof of his virility pressed against the general vicinity of her womb … But no man was so potent as that.
Then she realized Julian wasn’t speaking to her.
Lily turned, pressing a hand to her chest. In the corner of the room she spied Claudia, the duke’s young ward, shyly emerging from behind a fold of velvet drapery.
“You’re pregnant,” Julian repeated, moving toward the girl.
Claudia placed a hand on her belly. “So the doctors tell me.”
He turned to Lily. “Did you know about this?”
She shook her head. “They’ve kept it very quiet. I only learned of it this afternoon. Claudia’s condition, I mean. Believe me, I had no idea she was hiding in the draperies.” She turned to the girl. “I thought you were to remain upstairs.”
“I was,” she said, biting her lip. “I was supposed to stay upstairs. I only wanted a look in at the party.”
And at the naval officers, Lily imagined. Claudia was nothing if not curious about handsome young men.
“Then you came in,” she went on, “and so I hid. I meant to simply wait until you left the room, but …” Her cheeks colored. “Eventually, it seemed better to reveal my presence than conceal it.”
Claudia cast a wary look at Julian, causing Lily to wonder if the girl believed herself to be protecting Lily with her interruption. It would have been almost sweet of her, if it weren’t so wholly unnecessary. Not to mention unwanted. She looked to Julian, but he was studiously avoiding her gaze, frowning at the carpet instead. She doubted his frustration was meant for the interlocking rings of cream and gold. No, he was angry with himself. He regretted what had just occurred between them. Or rather, what had almost occurred.
“You’d best slip upstairs now,” Lily prompted the girl.
Claudia nodded and turned to leave. “Please,” she said, pausing on her way to the door. “Don’t tell the duke I was downstairs. And kindly don’t tell anyone about …” Her hand circled her belly. “… this. I promise not to speak a word of what happened here.”
Julian caught the girl by the elbow. “Nothing happened here.”
“Exactly.” Claudia smiled, looking from Lily to Julian. “You needn’t be concerned. I’m very good at keeping secrets.”
The girl left the room, and Julian flopped into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. With that disappeared Lily’s last bit of hope that they might resume where they’d left off.
He dropped his hands. “God only knows what that child thinks she saw.”
“What did she see?” Lily wasn’t certain herself. “Julian, can we—”
He shot to his feet. “I have to leave. There are places I need to be.”
“No.” She moved toward him. “No, please don’t go. I won’t sleep at all, if I know you’re out wandering the streets alone.”
“You shouldn’t lose sleep over me.”
“I can’t help it.” She couldn’t help but lie awake at night and wonder where he was. Because she wanted him there, in bed with her. How could she not have understood it before now?
As she neared his side, she could actually see his breath come faster, in the accelerated rise and fall of his chest. If she laid a hand to that spot just beneath his cravat, slid her fingers under the edge of his waistcoat … she sensed she’d feel his heart pounding every bit as fiercely as hers. But there the similarities would end. She would find hard muscles there, and the masculine heat of his skin. Did he have hair on his chest, she wondered? How strange, to think that she didn’t know. Of course, she’d always known he was a man, and a fine-looking one, at that. But she’d heretofore focused on their commonalities, their affinity.
Now she looked at Julian and saw … otherness. Differences. New contrasts to explore. With each passing moment, she grew exponentially aware of the essential, primitive masculinity raging beneath those fine clothes and flip expressions. And her own essential womanhood asserted itself in response, plumping her flesh to a feverish pink in all the obvious places—and a few surprising ones, as well. Lips, breasts, mons—she understood the significance of these. But what the backs of her knees had to do with anything, she could not possibly have guessed.
She reached for him, hoping he might help her understand. “Julian …”
He intercepted her touch, grasping her fingers in his and pressing them briefly—chastely—to his lips.
“We’ll be missed,” he said, releasing her hand. “And it’s growing late. I’ll speak with Morland. He’ll see you home in his carriage.”
“But can’t we—”
“You were right, I was an ass to the lieutenants earlier. I’ll make it up to them, take them round to the clubs and such.” In an apparent effort to collect himself—or avoid her—he tugged down the front of his waistcoat and ran both hands through his tousled black hair. “No boxing or bull-baiting, I promise.”
Disappointment twanged in her chest, but Lily didn’t know how to argue. Hadn’t this been her aim when arranging this party? To push Julian back into the social life he’d once loved—the clubs, the theater, the company of friends? She should count this a tremendous success.
Except there were still so many questions churning in her mind, so many emotions coursing through her blood. Julian wanted something more than friendship, he’d said. What more did he want, precisely? Her body? Her affection?
What more did she want from him?
“Will you call on me tomorrow?” she asked.
After a brief pause, he nodded. “If you wish.”
“I do. I do wish it.” For that, and for something more.
When Julian arrived at Harcliffe House the following morning, he again found Lily seated at the desk in Leo’s library. Her neck was curved white and graceful as a swan’s as she bent over an open ledger. Something about the contrast between that elegant sweep of her neck and the precise point of her elbow as she dipped her quill … A tide of longing pushed through him, laying waste to everything in its path.
Bypassing the signal mirror this time, he entered the room and approached her from the side. She was so absorbed in her work, she didn’t notice him until he stood nearly beside her, just at her right shoulder. Even then, she did not look up. She simply went still, holding her quill at attention. Only the slight change in her breathing let him know she’d realized he was there.
She was waiting. Waiting to see if he would touch her.
So he did. He laid a hand on her shoulder where her thin fichu met her gown.
“Good morning,” she said distractedly, taking a moment to finish her notation before replacing her quill in the inkwell. With a breathy sigh, she tipped her head to the left, stretching the slender column of her neck. Then back to the right. “I’ve been sitting here too long. I’ve gone all stiff.”
How could he resist an invitation like that? Julian pushed aside the frail, gauzy fichu and squeezed her shoulder gently, running his thumb along the tense ridge of muscle and sinew at the base of her neck. She had indeed been working too hard. Her muscles were drawn taut, resistant to his touch. As he kneaded her shoulder, the tension melted beneath his fingertips.
She moaned low in her throat.
Lust rocked him in his boots.
“Yes,” she sighed. “Just there.”
Suffice it to say, now Lily wasn’t the only one contending with uncomfortable stiffness. He slid his hand forward, over the ridge of her collarbone. Excitement surged to his fingertips. Mere inches below, the snowy expanse of her décolletage tempted.
Here was a perilous slope.
He did what any man approaching a precipice would do. He inched forward and peered over the edge.
What a breathtaking view. The gentle mounds of her breasts cradled a steep, luscious valley. She looked so soft. Julian had seen and touched and held to his cheek the finest textiles the world had to offer—velvets, silks, luxurious furs from every corner of every continent. And yet he knew instinctively, none of them could approach the sleek perfection of Lily Chatwick’s bosom. There would simply be no apt comparisons. Just as the terms “oak,” “granite,” and “tempered steel” failed to describe the current state of his arousal.
“You can’t have her,” he told himself aloud. “Not like that.” Before he could second-guess himself, he jerked his hand from her body.
She circled her head, stretching. “Mm, thank you.” Then she looked to him, eyebrows rising in expectation. “Well …?”
“Well.” Eager to conceal his own expectant, rising parts, Julian pulled up a chair and seated himself across the desk from her. “Good morning. I brought you something.” He carefully lifted his offering onto the desk. He’d been holding it in one hand all this while, and the parcel’s contents had grown noticeably agitated.
She was having none of it. “Julian. Do you honestly mean to pretend last night didn’t happen?”
He froze. He’d been asking himself that very thing. If he wished, he could deny everything. With a bit of bluster and diversion, he could lead her to believe she’d misunderstood his words and actions. He could convince her that no, he actually hadn’t lost his wits and impulsively confessed to harboring years of lust for her. With luck, he could have her believing that whatever he’d planned on doing instants before they were interrupted, it most certainly had not been kissing her for the second time in one day.
But today, looking into her lovely face, he found he simply couldn’t stomach more lies.
“No,” he said. “I don’t mean to pretend anything.”
Why shouldn’t she understand that since the day they’d met, he’d been seized by a powerful attraction to her? Lily was no fool. She would understand, as he did, that nothing could ever come of it. So many factors prevented him from acting on his desire—her mourning, the inequity of their rank, the recent resurrection of his innate sense of decency. Not to mention the fact that within a fortnight, Julian Bellamy would permanently disappear from London society. One way or another.
Let her know. Let her know what she did to him.
“So.” She drummed her fingers on the desk. “You desire me.”
“Yes.”
“Always have.”
“From the first.”
Her drumming fingers stilled. “And last night, when you flew into a rage with that Commander …”
“Merriwin. Commander Merriwin.”
“Yes, him. It wasn’t because you thought I was weak, or in need of protection.”
“No. It was jealousy. An instinctive male reaction, and one I should have suppressed.” He leaned forward. “I do believe in you, Lily. I know you could handle that man, or ten just like him. The weakness was mine.”
“Well.” Leather creaked as she sat back in her chair. “This is all so very enlightening.”
“It is?”
“Yes, of course. It explains so much.” Her cheeks went pink. “I mean, it’s undeniably flattering. Or at least, reassuring. I was beginning to feel like the only woman in London who didn’t catch your eye.”
His heart sank. Nothing—in all his life, absolutely nothing—could have made Julian regret his history of debauchery more than this: for him to finally confess his desire for Lily, and for her to conclude that his admiration simply made her one of a crowd. So utterly wrong that she should believe that, and yet … so convenient.
“As long as we are being honest,” she continued, her gaze sliding to the side, “I have to admit that I find you attractive, too. Not that it should be surprising. Again, I seem to be in the female majority.” She smiled.
“So,” he said, groping his way down the escape hatch she’d opened. “We’ve established that we are two attractive people.”
She nodded.
“And that each of us, logically, finds the other attractive.”
“As is only natural.” She stacked her arms on the desk and leaned against them. “It makes perfect sense. I’m so glad we’ve had this discussion, aren’t you?”
Julian was stunned silent for a moment. That was it? Truly? He admitted to wanting her, and she confessed to harboring a few innocent fancies of her own, and then they just … moved on from the topic entirely? Could it really be so simple? She wouldn’t think so, if she could have seen him arching on his toes for a glimpse of her breasts just now.
“Er … yes,” he finally said. “I’m glad, too.”
“Excellent. Now, what’s this you’ve brought me?” Her brow wrinkled as she studied the canvas-covered dome he’d placed atop the desk.
“A gift. Every dried-up spinster should have one.” With a flourish, he removed the canvas drape.
“You didn’t.” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Julian.”
“Oh, Julian,” the parrot sang, bobbing its crimson head in agreement. “Oh, Julian.”
“Is he speaking?” Lily asked. “What does he say?”
“He seems to have taken a liking to my name. Or at least your pronunciation of it.”
“Oh, Julian,” the garish creature sang, rustling its blue-and-green wings. “Oh, Juuuulian.”
Oh, lovely. What an idea this had been.
He reached into his coat and retrieved a packet of shelled walnuts. “Here,” he said, pushing the packet at Lily. “He’s likely hungry.”
She shook some of the nuts into her palm and pinched one between thumb and forefinger, offering it to the parrot through a gap in the bars. She laughed as the bird swiveled its head nearly upside down to grasp the nut in its dark, hooked beak. “Wherever did you get him?”
“I lost a bet.”
“Lost a bet?”
“Yes. This fellow’s ancient, been passed around for years. He’s long outlived his original owner. A barrister supposedly brought him home from Jamaica ages ago.”
The parrot bristled. “Guilty, guilty!” it trilled. Its round, red head tilted, then righted itself. “Thank you, that will be all.”
“What does he say now?” Lily asked, offering the creature another walnut.
“He’s pronounced judgment on me, I believe. And I’ve come up wanting. No death sentence as yet.”
Clever bird. Truthfully, Julian had felt sorry for the poor feathered beast. It had been passed from gentleman to gentleman for years. Usually as the forfeit in some wager—loser gets the bird. No one seemed to want the thing, and he was beginning to understand why. The parrot’s vocal antics would be amusing at the outset but could quickly become a source of aggravation.
“You don’t have to keep him,” he told Lily. “I only brought him by because … Well, I felt I owed you some sort of peace offering. And I guessed you’d be drowning in flowers this morning.”
“Drowning in flowers? What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you seen the drawing room?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been working in here all morning. I told Swift I wasn’t at home to anyone but you.”
A genuine grin stretched his cheeks. Oh, he was going to enjoy this. He rose, lifted the parrot’s cage in one hand and offered the other to Lily. “Come.”
He led her down the corridor and into the drawing room.
“Oh,” she said upon entering. “Oh, my.”
From his cage, even the bird gave a whistle of admiration.
The Harcliffe House drawing room was, as drawing rooms went, a large one. Near palatial, really. And today it was full to bursting with grandiose flower arrangements. Roses, orchids, delphiniums in abundance—but overwhelming all of these, lilies. Lilies of every possible variety, covering every available surface and filling every niche.
“Between the parrot and the flowers, it’s a veritable jungle,” Lily said. She turned to regard the bird hopping madly in its cage. “Oh, do let him out. He must feel as though he’s home.”
Julian obliged, setting the birdcage on the floor and opening the door. The bird didn’t move.
Lily kneeled before the open cage, beckoning the reluctant bird. “Come now, pet. Take a turn about the room.”
“Guilty, guilty!” the agitated parrot squawked. “Thank you, that will be all!”
“Perhaps he’s timid in a new place,” Julian suggested, helping Lily to her feet.
“Perhaps. We’ll give him time.” She turned a slow circle in place, surveying the exotic flora. A laugh bubbled from her throat. “All these lilies. They don’t have much imagination, do they?”
“Perhaps not. But they do have unquestionably good taste.” Julian reached for a salver heaped with calling cards and hand-delivered notes.
She sifted through the correspondence. “I can’t imagine how word got around so quickly.”
“Can’t you?”
Julian knew how word had got around so quickly. He’d spread it. After leaving Morland House last night, he’d taken those lieutenants to every gentlemen’s club, gaming hall, and opera house in London, all the while leading them in a voluble discourse on the inexhaustible topic of Lady Lily Chatwick. Her beauty, elegance, virtue, good humor, and, most important of all, sudden availability. “It’s just as I said. The gentlemen are falling over one another to court you.”
“I’m not sure they’re truly interested in that. After so much time out of circulation, I suspect I’m more of a curiosity at this point.”
Julian didn’t know how to argue, because he suspected it was partly true. But once everyone had the chance to see how intelligent, lovely, and personable Lily was, idle curiosity would become keen pursuit.
“You should give some thought to the invitations.” He plucked a familiar-looking envelope from the heap. “Start with this one.”
She opened it and scanned the contents quickly. “An assembly next week at the Shelton rooms, hosted by Lord and Lady Ainsley. You’ve already heard of it?”
He nodded. His own invitation had arrived weeks ago. The assembly would be the last major social event before most families adjourned to the countryside for Christmas. Everyone who was anyone in London would be there, and it was unquestionably Lily’s best opportunity to encourage suitors before the end of the year.
“You should attend,” he said. “Most definitely.”
Her eyebrows arched. “I should attend? Don’t you mean to say ‘we’?”
“Yes,” he forced himself to say. “Yes, of course. We should attend.” Why was it so hard to say that word? Putting the two of them in one syllable … it just seemed imprudent, somehow. In the same way he should avoid being mashed together with Lily in a small, dark, enclosed space. No telling what would happen.
“Oh, Julian, look out!”
He ducked instinctively, an instant before the parrot swooped over his head.
“Oh, Julian,” the bird squawked, coming to land on an unused candelabra. “Oh, Juuuuuulian.”
He glared at it. “Don’t ‘Oh, Julian’ me.”
Lily laughed. “I think I will keep him, if I may. He reminds me of you. Handsome, ruffled. Decked out in bright colors. A mimic.” Her eyes shone with merriment. “Perhaps I’ll name him after you, since he likes the sound of it so much.”
Julian couldn’t even form a response to that. No polite response, at least.
“The assembly,” he said, reaching out to tap the invitation. “We should attend.”
Her expression went pensive. “It’s been so long since I’ve danced. I don’t know if I remember the steps.”
“You needn’t dance at all if you don’t care to. You can always use mourning as an excuse. I’ll ward off anyone who pressures you.”
“There you go again. I don’t want to be excused, or guarded. I want to dance.” Her chin took on a decisive set. “Even if only for a few sets. Last night, I was unprepared for that party. So overwhelmed. This time, I want to show everyone I’m equal to the occasion.”
“So I see.” More than that, he sensed, she wanted to prove it to herself.
Of course she did. And why shouldn’t she? Just like the bird currently swooping from candelabra to chandelier, Lily had too long been caged by habit and grief.
She had a loving, generous soul, and she was not a woman formed for a life of solitude. But by pressing the idea of matrimony so strenuously, Julian had only given her more reason to build up a defense. If he truly wanted to be her friend, to see her settled in a happy, healthy future—to see her married—he needed to stop shielding her and start empowering her. Lily didn’t need protection from him. What she needed was confidence. Her chance to soar.
If he could give her that, Julian thought it just might be the truest accomplishment of his life.
She put her hands on her hips, scolding the parrot through a smile. “Come down from there, you cheeky thing!” Turning to Julian, she asked, “Did I leave the walnuts in the study?”
He nodded. “Shall I send a servant for them?”
“No. No, don’t. Let him fly.”
Yes, he thought as he watched her flirt with the errant bird, what Lily needed was confidence. And oddly enough, confessing his attraction had been a first step. He should have thought of it long ago. Nothing made a woman more desirable than an awareness of her own desirability. He could note the difference already. A saucy cock of the hip, a mischievous crook of the finger. The subtle drop of her shoulders that emphasized her bosom. She was aware of her body in ways she hadn’t been this time yesterday. With progress like this in a day’s time, by next week she’d have the men of London at her feet.
And yes, the reality of that would turn Julian into a snarling, jealous beast. But for Lily’s sake, he would take his turn in the cage.
“So will you help me?” she asked him suddenly. “Practice dancing for the assembly, just a bit? Perhaps tomorrow, or—”
“No.”
She blinked.
“Not tomorrow, and not just a bit.” Smiling, he moved forward to take her hand. “We’ll start right now. We’ll practice for as long as it takes. And then, at the assembly—Lily, you will show them all.”